Patterns of the Past
by lilac-kat
Summary: WRITTEN FOR THE WINNER OF CONTEST #1. Ms. O reunites with an old friend and hears a very interesting - and oddly familiar - story about her friend's past. Semi-continuation of "All Mixed Up!". Story does not contain shipping/OLP.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Hey, readers! Good to be back. If you remember from the Contest awhile back, the three winners got to submit story ideas for me to write about, so this is the first one of those! The idea was originally mine, but was selected by Shenokzo as her prize for winning Contest #1. I don't know how long exactly this story will be, but it'll probably be anywhere from 4-6 chapters. Tomorrow I'll publish the first official chapter for the winning story of Contest #3, and the story for Contest #2 will come later because it's a one-shot (also because I haven't written it yet :\ ).  
One piece of background is that this story takes place around the time Ms. O read through the case file for "All Mixed Up!", as shown in my fanfic of the same name. It's not really a sequel though, so if you haven't read the other story, that's okay. (However, I would love it if you _did_ read my other stories! ;) )  
**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own _Odd Squad_. Just the stories I write about it.**

 **SECOND DISCLAIMER: The story may be conceived and written by me, but Shenokzo has complete final say in what is published.**

 **So without further ado, happy reading! :)**

Chapter 1

 _"...okay, and what time will you be over? ...Uh-huh, uh-huh...three o'clock is perfect. Great, see you then!" Ms. O hangs up, then dials the number for Shmumbers, Inc. "Hello? Yes, this is Ms. O from Odd Squad, and I'd like to place an order—what? ...Yes, I_ know _I already ordered a juice box shipment this morning, but this is different. I'd like to place an order for ten jumbo-size jars of jellybeans...no, I do_ not _want to round that up to a dozen! I said_ ten _jars, not twelve,_ ten! _And if you don't get my order right, I'll have to demand to speak with your manager—no, your CEO about this!" She sighs. Why couldn't the silly employee people ever follow her directions? Didn't Yucks ever tell them who she was? "When can you have them delivered? ...Okay that's great, a whole hour earlier than I'd hoped for...uh-huh..._ yes I can pay for this! _Now is that all? Good, and it better be on time!"_

 _Ms. O slams the purple phone back into its holder with an exasperated grunt. "Some people," she mutters. They don't understand. In a few hours' time, she'll be hosting possibly one of the most important guests Odd Squad has seen in the past few decades, and there will be lots to discuss. This meeting has to be perfect. Absolutely perfect._

 _Not that there's a whole lot to do. Other than ordering jellybeans and telling the rest of the squad to be on their best behavior, there's not a whole lot Ms. O can do to prepare. Her guest has already seen headquarters, obviously, and knows some of its members from before, so there's no reason to try and make a huge first impression. But she wants to make sure her guest knows she remembers their interests and can entertain like a good hostess._

 _The hours tick by. Ms. O was told by her guest to wait in her office, and they would meet her there. Obvious why, of course, but that doesn't stop Ms. O from getting bored. Even her juice boxes seem bland, probably because she's so nervous. To pass the time, Ms. O eventually pulls out the case file "All Mixed Up!" and reads through it, reading out loud to Agent Ori when he drops by. When that's done and Ori is on his way, Ms. O moves to one of the couches and waits anxiously. What if her guest decides not to come after all? Yet sure enough, when three o'clock comes around, the doors to Management's private tube open, and out pops a purple ball._

 _Ms. O—Oprah—smiles as the figure stands up. "Welcome back to Odd Squad, boss."_

* * *

 _The former Ms. O laughs. "Don't be ridiculous, Oprah._ You're _Ms. O now, and you've been so for thirty-two years. Please, call me by my real name."_

 _Oprah purses her lips. She remembers her former boss's name, of course. After all, there's only one O name she knows of that adds up to 77. But it feels foreign as it rolls off her tongue. "Olesya?"_

 _"That's the one!" Olesya makes her way over to the couch and sits down next to her successor. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply through her nose. "Ahh. I missed this place. Retirement has made me nostalgic."_

 _Meanwhile, Oprah is surprised at how much her old boss has changed since 1983. Like O'Donahue, Olesya hasn't aged in retirement, and is still her nine-year-old self. But unlike O'Donahue, she's ditched her eighties attire entirely. Always one to dress for the decade, she wears a simple pink- and white-striped sweater dress with purple leggings, silver flats, and a silvery-purple infinity scarf. Her once-permed hair is now sleek and straight, and it hangs over one shoulder in a side braid. In addition to her clothes, Olesya's character has also changed. She no longer has that aura of extreme annoyance and bad-temperedness from her days as the boss, but rather is relaxed, friendly, humble, and quick to smile._

 _"I see you got me jellybeans," Olesya says with a nod toward the ten jars stacked on the coffee table. She chuckles and unscrews one of the jars. "Never could give these up. I'm such a horrible quitter."_

 _Oprah scoffs. "Oh, please. Have you seen my juice bar?"_

 _Olesya glances over her shoulder. "Ah. Yeah, I don't see you quitting the juice anytime soon." They both laugh._

 _All afternoon the two girls talk, eat jellybeans, drink juice boxes, and talk some more. There's a lot to catch up on. Olesya has many questions for Oprah, including what Odd Squad is like nowadays, who her best agents are, which cases are the most memorable, etc. Oprah has questions too, including what her 32-year-long retirement has been like, what she does with her life nowadays, and what she misses most about Odd Squad. Eventually the conversation topic shifts to Olesya's early years working on the squad, something Oprah has never thought to ask about before._

 _"So when did you get recruited?" Oprah asks, sipping from her juice box._

 _Olesya thinks for a moment. "Let's see...I don't remember the exact year, but I think it was just before the Civil War. Around 1859, I believe. My parents had just died and—" she laughs at Oprah's stricken look. "Sorry, I forgot you're not used to agents talking about their home life. But it's alright. I'm no longer an agent, so the whole equality thing doesn't apply to me anymore."_

 _Oprah raises an eyebrow. "What about the badge under your scarf?"_

 _"Under my—oh!" Olesya glances down at her scarf in surprise, where the dull gold glint of a badge could just barely be seen. "Wow, good eye, Oprah. Yes, I suppose you're right. Once an agent, always an agent, especially if it keeps me young." They both laugh at that. "Anyhow, my parents emigrated from China to California for the gold rush, and they had me around 1850, I think. A couple years later my mom got sick with the flu or something and died, and my dad was killed in a mining accident not long after that."_

 _"That's horrible!"_

 _Olesya shrugs. "Yeah. I don't really remember them, though, so it's okay. I guess after that I was sent to an orphanage. It was run by some Russian woman from Alaska, who apparently didn't like my Chinese name. I don't even know what it was now. So she renamed me Olga, but she and the other kids at the orphanage all called me Olesya. It's some sort of nickname in Russian, and it stuck, so ever since then I've been Olesya."_

 _"Hmm." Oprah ponders that for a little bit._ Good thing she didn't keep the name Olga, _she thinks with a smile. "So how did Odd Squad find you, then?"_

 _"Oh, they always scout the orphanages for recruits," Olesya explains, "especially those with O names. No issues with clingy parents, you understand. I caught their eye, one thing led to another, and next thing you know I'm an agent. Eventually I transferred through a couple squads until I ended up at this one. Nothing remarkable about that. Now, if you wanna hear a real story from me, that'd be about how I became Ms. O."_

 _The current Ms. O purses her lips. "Yeah, I remember Old Missie retiring and promoting you in her place. But you never told me about what happened, did you?" She smiles wryly. "Lemme guess, there was a villain called the Patternista involved."_

 _Olesya giggles. "Yep."_

 _"And you discovered it was really Old Missie in disguise, testing you to see if you were good enough to be Ms. O."_

 _"Nope."_

 _Oprah nearly drops her juice box._ "No?!"

 _Olesya rolls her eyes, and Oprah catches a hint of the former Ms. O. "Are we gonna continue this back-and-forth thing, or are you gonna let me tell the story?"_

 _"Do I have to tell you my answer?"_

 _"Nope, because the answer is always both. Good job on remembering." Smiling, Olesya sits back against the purple octagon couch cushion and pops a jellybean in her mouth. "The year was 1925..."_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Sorry it's been awhile. Had a final round of summer camps followed by a heart condition diagnosis, all the while during a terrible bout of writer's block. :( Plus I was working on Ch. 2 for _Viva La Vida_ , and I'll be posting Ch. 3 of that next. Eventually. School starts tomorrow for me, so I won't have as much time to write as I'd like to.**

 **Anyhow, back to the story. I'll be taking you back to 1925 now, with some interruptions from the present day of course. It's been really painstaking yet really fun writing this because of all the 1920s slang I get to throw in with the dialogue. XD Basically I'm trying to make this like a sister story "Totally Odd Squad", while staying true to the era as well as things mentioned in Odd Squad's history. Shenokzo likes it, so I'm sticking with it. Also get to throw in some new OCs, yay! (On that note, I post descriptions of all my OCs on MadlySane's _Odd Squad_ forum, which I mentioned in another story and you all should totally check it out.)**

 **Fine, fine, here's the chapter. :)**

Chapter 2

"Thank you for coming, Odd Squad. I didn't know who else to call."

I sized up the secretary. She was a pretty blonde in her early twenties, dressed fashionably enough and with an organized desk space. _Unlike mine_ , I thought with a suppressed smile. But I didn't see anything immediately wrong with her. "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

The secretary tapped the keys of her typewriter absent-mindedly with a manicured fingernail. "Well, this morning as I dressed for work, I put on this new hat I had gotten as a present from my sister." She pointed to the lavender cloche hat on her head.

My partner Ogden nodded. "It's very nice," he said stiffly, shy as usual.

"Why, thank you. I believe it to be a bit of a yawner myself, but one must never turn down a present from one's own sister. Anyhow, when I arrived here, I tried to take it off and—well, this happened." As she pulled off her hat, another identical one appeared in its place.

Surprised, I found myself holding the first hat. "My goodness!" I exclaimed.

"And it keeps going, too!" She did the same thing again, and before I knew it I was holding ten more lavender cloche hats, all like the first one. But the secretary still had one perched neatly on her head, as if it had never been taken off.

Ogden thought for a moment. "Not to worry, ma'am. We have a Hat-Removinator with us." Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out what looked like an egg beater with several gears attached and a tiny metal hat on the hand crank. One of Dr. Ozzington's new inventions, I supposed.

I looked longingly at the hats stacked in my arms, then at the one on the woman's head. "Pity," I muttered. "It's a gorgeous hat. Real hoity-toity."

"You really think so?" the secretary gasped.

"Of course!" I told her politely. "It brings out your blue eyes, and it frames your hair nicely. And besides, lavender goes with almost everything."

"And how," Ogden agreed, finally starting to warm up. "Your hat is the cat's meow, really."

The secretary blushed. "Well, now that I think about it...you're right! No need for that little gillgadget of yours, then. Thanks, Odd Squad!"

"The pleasure is ours!" I said, glad another job was done. "Have a swell day, ma'am."

Ducking under her desk, Ogden and I found ourselves getting squooshed into red cube-shaped pods and zooming through the newly built Odd Squad tube system. Even though it had been completed a year ago now, I still couldn't believe that after over fifty years of work, Big Red's big idea had finally paid off. Truth be told, I don't think anyone could believe it. But believe it or not, everyone certainly loved it. Getting around was so much easier now, especially since other Odd Squad chapters around the world had adopted and linked their own tube systems. Still, cubes? It seemed to me that sphere-shaped pods would make more sense, like marbles rolling down a ramp. It would be so much smoother.

But never mind about that. One big invention at a time.

We popped out of the tubes and found ourselves face-to-face with the builder himself at the new control switchboard. "Morning, agents!" Big Red greeted us. "How's tricks?"

Ogden shrugged. "Not bad. Our work is going well," he said. "And you?"

"Everything's the bee's knees with me!" Big Red replied eagerly, as if he'd been hoping they would ask that. "I installed some spanking new levers and gears to the switchboard with a better response time, so I can pop you agents out of the tubes faster. I'm even looking into hiring new tube operators to help me! It's getting to be a big job, trying to hit on all fours by myself..."

I could tell that Ogden looked bored. He'd started inspecting his fingernails for dirt and fiddling with stray pieces of sandy hair that had fallen out of his comb-over. Any minute now he would whip out the pomade, so I quickly intervened. "That's swell, Big Red. But we should let you get back to work. All this beating our gums is distracting you."

Big Red shrugged. "If you say so. Swell to punch the bag with you two, though. Catch you later!"

"You too!" With that done, Ogden and I left the tube lobby and walked right into a construction zone. About ten years ago, Ms. O—or Old Missie, as we liked to call her—finally decided that if Odd Squad was getting a new transportation system, it was only fair that headquarters got an upgrade, too. Since then, we'd been in the process of tearing down, renovating, and expanding—and I mean _expanding._ It amazed me to see how much was taking shape already: the Science Department had an entire laboratory in place of a bar counter; Old Missie had her own private office in place of a walled-off alcove; the Medical Department, which had its own medical bay before, now boasted more modern and high-tech equipment; we agents had a trophy room to replace the crammed cabinet that had held all our awards and other curios; and there were so many new rooms being added on that had never existed before, like a break room, a game room, a meeting room (in the form of a ball pit, it was rumored), several interrogation rooms, a north control room for radio and audio operations, a warehouse for better storage, and countless other odd rooms in the back hallways. Not to mention the new building actually had two storeys with a grand double staircase, and that was just the main part...

But no matter how amazing it was, it seemed Ogden would never be impressed by the new renovations. "All this noise!" he complained as we picked our way through the scaffolding and building materials to our desks, which (along with all the other desks) were temporarily sheltered from construction by a large canvas tent. "For crying out loud! How should we be expected to get any work done?" He plopped down in his desk chair with a surly groan. "It's baloney, I tell you. Phonus balonus and all that jazz."

I rolled my eyes and smiled. Ogden's antics would have been funny if he weren't being completely serious. Plus he was completely oblivious to the fact that it came off as ridiculous drama. "Maybe you won't have to," I teased. "As the saying goes, let George do it. Or perhaps Old Missie will call us on a case..."

Ogden bolted up from his seat, eyes wide. "Don't—"

"OGDEN AND OLESYA! IN MY OFFICE! _NOW! ! !_ "

"—say it..." he trailed off weakly, too late. "Well, that's Jake. Now I definitely won't get any work done. Just swanky." Sarcasm dripping from his words, Ogden turned on his heel and marched away.

As he stormed off, I caught the questioning eyes of Agents Oprah and O'Donahue, sitting at the desks adjacent to ours. "What's eating him?" O'Donahue asked, nodding in the direction of my partner.

I shrugged. "Oh, you know Ogden. A shy baby grand out in the field, and a surly killjoy in the privacy of HQ."

Oprah raised an eyebrow. "A real Dapper Dan, isn't he?"

"You get used to him," I chuckled. "I can't beef about it, anyhow. He can be a gay old fella when he wants to be. Besides, he brings me jelly beans every day."

* * *

" _You remember that?" Oprah asks, laughing. "I sure don't."_

" _Of course I remember," Olesya points out with a wink. "I was about to become Ms. O."_

 _Oprah nods. "Good point. Continue."_

* * *

I followed Ogden up the stairs and into Old Missie's office, still in the long process of being decorated. Old Missie herself sat behind her desk, daintily fingering a small vinyl record. I stifled a laugh because she seemed so out of place with the record, not to mention everything else of the decade. See, Old Missie got her nickname partly because she was a personal traditionalist who refused to adapt to the times. (That's why it took us agents _forever_ to convince her to renovate HQ.) She hadn't updated her Ms. O uniform since the 1890s, so she still wore a navy high-collar button-up pleated-skirt wool dress, and even her copper brown hair was still long and braided into an elegant bun, partly hidden by the purple-trimmed navy hat on her head. Meanwhile, the rest of us agents had traded in our turn-of-the-century uniforms for the more casual (and cuter!) navy and white sailor suits with red ties in the front, and we girls had cropped our hair short with everyone else. Come on, it was the 1920s, we were supposed to have fun and be free. But Old Missie didn't see it that way. To her, work was work, and as she was head of Odd Squad _and_ made up the entire Management Department, she had to dress the part. No matter if the rest of us thought she looked old-fashioned. Hence, we called her the Old-Fashioned Ms. O, or just Old Missie for short.

"There you two are," Old Missie addressed us, setting down the record. "Something very odd has happened."

"What's the problem, Missie?" Ogden asked, any former irritation absent from his voice.

Old Missie shuffled some papers and fished around her desk until she found a black-and-white Brownie photograph. "This is a photo of the four-foot-long Charleston Chew at the museum," she explained, holding it up for us to see. "Except this morning..." she held up another photograph "...someone stole it!"

Ogden and I gasped. In the first photograph, the gigantic chocolate-covered nougat sat proudly on its display pedestal. But in the second photograph, the candy bar was missing!

"Luckily," Old Missie went on, "we have a clue." She set down the photographs and handed us the record she'd been fingering. "This was found at the scene of the crime. It might contain important information."

I nodded. "We'll investigate right away, Missie." Without further ado, Ogden and I hurried out of the office before Old Missie could yell at us to go chase ourselves. We ducked into one of the finished interrogation rooms where the Odd Squad phonograph was being stored until the north control room's completion. Carefully I set the record on the turntable and moved the needle over it. Ogden and I sat down next to it and listened.

At first there was only a fuzzy static noise, but then we heard a strangely distorted noise that sounded like laughter, followed by a high-pitched squeaky voice. "Ha ha! By now you've realized that your precious candy bar has been stolen."

I exchanged glances with Ogden. We'd both recognize that voice anywhere. "Jeepers creepers, it's the Patternista!" I exclaimed.

"One of the worst villains known to Odd Squad," Ogden added with a gulp. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then the voice started talking again.

"But never fear," she went on. "The Patternista will tell you exactly where to go looking for it. Simply figure out the next sound I will make, but listen closely!" What followed was a jumble of random noises that had Ogden and I staring at each other in confusion, but I managed to catch what sounded like a bird chirp, a foghorn, and squealing tires. Then she finished with, "But you'd better hurry before all the chocolate melts. Ta-ta!" and the record stopped.

Ogden let out a low whistle. "Well, _that_ was wiggedy-whacked."

"Tell me about it," I agreed as I took the needle off and carefully removed the record. "But remember, this is the Patternista. Whatever that balled-up hooey was, it has to be important."

"Of course." Ogden stood up and fingered his badge. "Time to visit the Mathroom, then?"

"Now you're on the trolley!" I grinned as I gripped my badge in turn and twisted it. Ogden did the same, and off we went in a swirl of paper and red light.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Over a month since I last updated this story, according to my stats. Hmm. So sorry about that, school and writer's block and college applications and extracurriculars have been getting in the way, though not necessarily in that order.**

 **Um, news... well, I saw the "Against the Odds" special last night, and all I can say is that I am officially Odd Squaded out. I don't think my mind absorbed anything at school today because I'm still trying to process five episodes worth of information. Including the fact that Oscar's trademark haircut was _copied..._ #mylifeisalie But yeah so I am not totally functioning right now, but as soon as I can process all this info I have a gigantic load of story canons that need to be looked over and updated...blech :P**

 **Okay sorry I'm rambling. In other news, Flying Saucers has a new OS fanfic published, and it's a CROSSOVER with BATMAN. Something about Odd Todd teaming up with the Joker, and Odd Squad has to join forces with Batman and Robin to stop them and save the day. It looks awesome, funny, and very promising so far, and I highly recommend it to all you lovely readers. Plus he's only had like 6 views so far, and he kinda sorta hinted that I give him a shoutout, so...yeah. Well, what are you waiting for? Go read it, NOW!**

 **But first, enjoy Chapter 3. :)**

Chapter 3

" _Hmm," Oprah muses. "I remember the real Patternista. But I thought she'd been in custody at the time?"_

 _Olesya shakes her head. "She was, but she'd escaped. All part of her grand evil scheme, we figured out later."_

" _To steal the four-foot-long Charleston Chew?"_

" _Ah, but that was only the first part," Olesya explains. "As Ogden and I were about to find out..."_

* * *

"G'day, agents!" came a cheerful voice.

Shaking off the dizziness, Ogden and I stepped up to the railing of the visitor's platform. "How do you do, Mathroom?" Ogden greeted with a stiff nod.

"Oh, simply ducky," Mathroom replied, and I could almost see a grin on her multicolored origami face. I had to smile. Out of all the squads I had worked at, this one had the best Mathroom by far. Other squads just had a back closet in their headquarters that agents would visit for quiet time to mull over a case, and some squads didn't even have anything of the sort, let alone anything conscious or interactive. So I was elated when Agent Oprah brought this Mathroom to life decades ago, and I've been happy with her ever since.

As per the usual, she got right down to business. "What copacetic caper am I assisting you with solving today?"

"It's the Patternista," I explained, holding up the record. "She's back in town, and left us a clue to where the missing four-foot-long Charleston Chew is."

"Could you play back the noises we heard on the record?" Ogden asked.

"Sure thing!" Mathroom proceeded to play back the same three sounds we'd heard on the record, but it still sounded like a complete jumble.

I could tell Ogden was about to make some snarky comment about how the Patternista was futzing with us, so I quickly stopped him. "Ogden, she's called the Patternista for a reason, remember? So I'll bet my berries that all that baloney of noises is really just one of her patterns."

A light shone in his eyes, and I could tell he'd caught on. "So whatever the next noise in the sequence is, that'll tell us where she left the candy bar!" He turned back to Mathroom. "Play it again, only this time number the sounds as we hear them, so we can keep track."

In reply, Mathroom replayed the noises, but unlike before she also spat out a series of 1s, 2s, and 3s along with each noise. With the numbers, I could now clearly tell that the first noise was the bird chirp, the second noise was the foghorn, and the third noise was the squealing tires. But for some reason the foghorn noise and number 2 occurred more often than the others.

Examining the list in front of us, Ogden said, "So is the pattern just 1, 2, 3?"

I shook my head and pointed. "Take a look, old boy. If that were the pattern, there'd be another 1 after the 3 because it would start over. But there's another 2 instead. I think the real pattern is 1, 2, 3, 2, and _then_ it repeats."

Ogden squinted at it. "Huh. Sure enough. Villain or not, the Patternista sure knows her onions about confusing us."

"Confusing you, you mean," I corrected with a wink.

"Oh, dry up," Ogden grunted. "Anyhow, look at the sequence. There's two sets of 1-2-3-2, and then just one set of 1-2-3. So that means the number 2 noise is next."

Mathroom added a 2 to complete the pattern, making the foghorn noise as she did so.

"Now where are we supposed to find a foghorn?" Ogden wondered.

I thought for a moment. "Best place I can think of is the town docks. Where all those ships are, like ones with foghorns."

"Sounds keen to me." Suddenly Ogden's eyes widened in worry. "But that's outside, right in the middle of the sun! And it's ninety degrees out today!"

"We better get a wiggle on!" I said. Together, we quickly twisted our badges and spun out of sight of the Mathroom.

* * *

The tubes spat us out onto the boat-ridden pier and Ogden and I tumbled to the wooden decking. Standing up and brushing ourselves off, our gazes snapped to the giant candy bar lying on a coil of rope in the shade of a tethered sailboat not fifty feet away. "There it is!" we pointed and yelled in unison—one of the many habits of Odd Squad agents which I will never understand and annoys me to this day, even though I'm guilty of it myself—and took off running. As soon as we reached the candy bar, I skidded to a halt so fast that Ogden nearly crashed into me.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" he protested. "The Chew is fine, see?" Reaching down and rubbing a finger along the side, he pulled it away clean and chocolate-free. "Still solid. We made it in time."

"I know that, Ogden. That's not what stopped me." Bending down, I slid out a film reel from the rope coils and held it up to examine. There was a magenta label on the front signed by the Patternista with the title SOCKDOLLAGER FOR THE SAPS on it.

Ogden and I exchanged looks. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Only one way to find out," he said as he whipped out his Film-Reelinator and set it on the ground. I undid the latches to open it up, placed the reel on the projector, and turned it on.

An image of the Patternista, dressed to excess as usual, appeared on the miniature fold-out screen. She spoke silently for awhile, then a title card popped up with her words: "Good job, Odd Squad."

My eyebrows shot up. Was she _congratulating_ us?

"Banana oil," Ogden murmured.

Sure enough, there was more. She spoke again, and another title card popped up. "Oh, applesauce, who am I kidding? Bad job, because this was all part of a trip for biscuits I set up to get you out of your headquarters."

 _A trip for biscuits?_ I thought with a sinking feeling. _Oh, no. Of course it was too easy. What did we miss?_

The next title card read, "By now, I've fed all available agents one of my lines, leaving your precious Ms. O sitting pretty all alone in her office for me to, oh, take for a ride."

My mouth fell open in horror. "No!" I shouted.

The next shot of the Patternista showed her snickering, as if she'd heard me. "That's right," the title card read. "I'll have you know she put up a good fight, but sadly not good enough. I'm holding your feisty little boss hostage in my warehouse, where she will stay until Odd Squad can scrape up some heavy sugar for her. Unless, of course, you actually manage to find my lair and rescue her." Another shot showed her snickering again. Then her eyes narrowed sinisterly. "But I wouldn't take any wooden nickels if I were you," read the next title card. "Remember, I can always choose to bump her off if you don't play by my rules..."

Ogden's face blanched. I could only imagine what mine looked like.

There was one final title card. "Anyhow, I'm almost out of celluloid. Hope to hear from all you adorable little bunnies soon. Toodle-oo-ski!" The last thing we saw before the reel stopped was the Patternista waving at the camera and cackling wickedly. Then the projector went dark.

My knees had turned to jelly, and my vision wobbled. Suddenly the boats lined up along the docks were too big, too threatening, too _close_. I felt trapped...helpless…

 _...calm?_

For some reason I could never explain, I suddenly knew what to do. Grabbing Ogden by the shoulder, I shook him out of his shock and said, "Come on, partner. First let's get the Charleston Chew back to the museum. Then we need to get back to HQ."

* * *

" _Hang on a minute," Oprah interrupts. "I think I'd've remembered if O'Donahue and I had been sent on a false case from the Patternista, and came back to find Old Missie kidnapped. She really was kidnapped, right?"_

 _Olesya nods. "Yep, she was definitely kidnapped. Ogden and I got back to headquarters to find Old Missie's office a wreck. Her desk was overturned, unpacked boxes were ripped open and scattered everywhere, and she was nowhere in sight. It looked worse than the construction zone."_

" _But how come the rest of us didn't hear about it?" Oprah presses._

" _Well...if I remember correctly, not every agent was sent on one of the Patternista's false cases," Olesya muses. "Only about six of us were, plus four others who'd been witnesses. I think most of the agents were in other parts of HQ, helping with construction. And don't forget there were other normal odd cases going on that day, as usual. That's probably where you and O'Donahue were. In any case, the ten of us that knew all decided to keep Old Missie's disappearance under the radar until we could figure out what to do next..."_

* * *

The only other agents who knew were Obed and Osage, Ocelot and Oxley, Orscheln, O'Sullivan, Olmstead, and Obfusco. After cleaning up the office as best we could, we sat on the new couches and held an emergency meeting.

"First things first," I began. Somehow I'd become the facilitator of the meeting, probably because with exception to Obfusco, I was more collected than any of the other agents. (Although it was only because I'd grabbed a jar of jellybeans to snack on.) "How did the Patternista get inside headquarters in the first place?"

Agent O'Sullivan, one of the more prominent maintenance agents, cleared his throat nervously. "Fairly easily, actually. Construction is still underway and not all the entrances have been sealed." He pulled a small blueprint map out of the front pocket of his navy-trimmed yellow overalls and pointed out several marked spots. "We still have breaches here, here, here, and here, if I remember right."

"Fine, so nothing we could control there. However, if there are still breached entrances, then why isn't security covering them?"

All eyes fell on Agent Olmstead. Her face flushed red right up to the tip of her tanned pointy nose, and she blew her short caramel hair out of her eyes. "Don't look at me! Just because I'm head of the Security Department doesn't mean I should be left holding the bag! _I_ blame the construction. How can my staff keep their jobs percolated when all this clutter makes it difficult to maneuver around? Not to mention easy for _any_ intruder to hide behind?"

Obfusco held his hands up for silence. "Enough of your excuses, my fiery gingerbread platypus," he spoke in his confusingly lyrical—and irritatingly _slow_ —voice. "Now is not the time to cast blame on anyone."

"Obfusco's right," Agent Osage agreed, restlessly fiddling with the red ribbons on her long black braids. (She was the only agent I knew of besides Old Missie who hadn't cut her hair—something about proud Midwestern Indian heritage.) "It doesn't matter now how the Patternista pulled the whole sockdollager on us. What's important is we get Old Missie back."

"Not only that," I added, "but we can't let the rest of the squad know she's been abducted. We don't want everyone to throw a panic. Best just to say she's taken a leave of absence to visit the squad in the next town over, or something of that nature."

There were murmurs of agreement.

"In the meantime," I went on, "Osage is right. We have to figure out how to get her back from the Patternista. Any ideas?"

No one spoke for a bit. Then little five-year-old Oxley piped up, "Well golly, we're not gonna pay her the ransom, are we?"

Before I could say a word, there were shouts of protest and dissent from all the other agents. "Like heck we will!" "What a load of bushwa!" "We can't give in to that old flour-flusher!" "That oughta show her our defiance!"

"Okay, okay, pipe down!" I yelled to shut everyone up. "Don't get into a lather, everyone. There's no need to give the Patternista what she wants. Surely there has to be a weakness we can exploit somewhere."

"But what?" Oxley wondered, looking to me with expectant puppy eyes and a quaver in his chin.

I was still coming up with a reply when I caught the faint sound of a grunt. My eyes fell on Ogden, and for the first time I saw his stony face. He'd been silent this entire time. "Yes, partner, what is it?"

Everyone looked at him. For a moment, it looked like he wasn't going to say anything. Then suddenly he snapped. "Oh, for cryin' out loud! When is it going to sink in? We just lost our own _boss_. Now that the Patternista's gotten away with it, other villains all over the world will attack other squads and do the same thing. Odd Squad is most definitely going to be _over!_ " With that, Ogden stood up and pulled off his badge.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Now what do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "Quitting. While I still can, before this turns into a _real_ sockdollager." And before I could even react, Ogden was out the glass doors.

We all stared after him in shocked silence. Stunned, I muttered, "Why that lazy old lollygagger!" Suddenly I found myself poking my head out the doors and shouting, "YOU HEAR THAT?! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT AN UPSTAGED PIKER, YOU SCREWY HARD-BOILED—"

"Whoa, there!" Oxley's older partner Ocelot stopped me with a kind hand on my shoulder. She gave me a wry smile, her albino red eyes twinkling. "So the goods finally come out, eh?"

I sighed. "It's true he frustrated me as a partner a lot of the time. But it still doesn't make any sense. I mean, I always thought he was loyal to the Odd Squad..." I trailed off.

"Ogden," Obfusco cut in, "is like a theater mask in the talons of a peregrine falcon diving off the roof of a skyscraper to catch a single unprotected Easter bunny. He has his own personal agenda that does not concern us."

"He's got a point," said Osage's partner Obed, brushing the blonde curls out of his eyes and pushing his spectacles into place. "From what I know of Ogden, he's off his nuts and prone to snap decisions. Something like this was bound to happen, and if he wants to be a dewdropper, then let him. You can try to straighten it out with him later, Olesya, but we've got more important problems to solve right now."

"Alright," I sighed reluctantly, sitting back down on the couch. "Again, we won't pay the ransom, but the Patternista did say she'd be sending another message. The question is how—"

"One step ahead of you!" came the interruption from the back of the office. We all wheeled around to see Agent Orscheln, the scientist in our small group, pop up triumphantly from behind Old Missie's desk. A fingerprint sheet was in one hand and a second vinyl record was in the other. "At least, I think so," she amended, setting her things on the desk. "While you were all beating your gums, I did a bit of detective work and found this record pasted under the chair. I've got my mazuma on it being from the Patternista herself!"

"Are you sure?" Olmstead asked skeptically, fingering the buttons on her periwinkle-blue pea jacket.

"Pos-i-lute-ly!" Orscheln said with an affirmative nod, brown curls bouncing. "But there's only one way to find out for certain…"

Moments later we were all gathered around the Odd Squad phonograph as Orscheln set the needle on the record. Once again the Patternista's trademark squeaky voice filled the tiny room. "If you are hearing this message," she began, "that means my evil plan has succeeded and your precious Ms. O is in my care." She snickered. "But I've decided to be lenient today. I will let you have her back...for a price."

We all looked at one another in worry. There was no way we were going to give in to her demands...right? What would they be?

We never found out. Because at that moment the Patternista was interrupted by a crash and a burst of static-like noise, and suddenly we heard a new, very familiar voice.

 **A/N Forgot to say this earlier, but a huge thank-you to all the people who've read, reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. I really appreciate all the support. As for "WHAT'S next", look out for Chapter 4 of "Viva La Vida" coming soon, plus the long awaited Contest #2 oneshot later on down the road. Hope to see you all then! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Here you guys go! :D [*immediately runs and hides from angry mob of fans wanting "Viva La Vida" updates*]**

Chapter 4

" _Agents!_ "

"That's Old Missie!" little Oxley cried as we all looked at one another in shock and immense relief.

Another smaller crash and more staticky noises, and it became clear we were hearing a scuffle. "Listen to me very closely, agents—hey! You told me I was allowed a few last words!"

"Not if you're going to tell them not to pay my ransom and where the spe—I mean, my evil warehouse lair is!" snapped the Patternista. "I'll just destroy this recording and make a new one—"

"Calm down, I am fully aware that there is no use in saying any of that," she replied in an agreeable voice that was very unlike her. _Something's up,_ I immediately thought. _Old Missie would never agree to let anyone pay a ransom for her. Especially not after pulling out some hip to the jive karate moves._

"Agents," she began again. "Listen to me: I am not hurt, and there is no need to worry. But I do not know how long I will be gone, so I need you to do something for me. Two of my best flapper dresses were left downstairs in the Laboratory and were badly stained. The pink one has four grass stains, and the white one has six cherry stains. Please wash the stains _three times_ so my dresses aren't ruined, but be _especially_ careful with my white dress. Cherry stains can be permanent if they are not dealt with quickly." A few more muted noises. " _Now_ I am finished."

"Ugh, _fine,_ " came the whiny retort. "I'll let your agents do your laundry for you. Now, back to my demands—"

My suspicions confirmed, I reached forward and shut the turntable off. "Forget about her demands," I declared. I had to admit, I was getting a little used to taking the leadership role, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "We already know we're not paying them if Old Missie's alright."

There were murmurs of agreement. Then O'Sullivan spoke up. "But what do we do now? We can't stage a rescue if we don't know where to find her."

"Except we _do_ know where to find her," I countered. "Think about it. Since when did Old Missie become such a smarty and decide to dud up in flapper dresses?"

Olmstead scrunched up her nose. "She doesn't."

"Exactly! So why would she tell us to wash her glad rags if she doesn't own any?"

Osage's eyes widened as she caught on. "So she could give us a coded message with a clue to where the Patternista's keeping her!"

"I'd bet heavy sugar on it!" Obed agreed. "Quick, let's ankle to the Mathroom!"

Amidst hopeful cheers at the prospect of a strong lead, we all twisted our badges and began spinning as best we could in the small room.

 _If only Ogden had waited five more minutes before mooching…_

* * *

"Well I'll be an eel's hips, Mathroom remarked as we all dizzily tried to come to a stop, bumping into each other. "Any more floorflushers in here and this place'll be Tin Pan Alley."

"C'mon, Mathroom, don't be a Mrs. Grundy," Olmstead shot back jokingly, but I caught the note of worry in her voice hidden behind the facade. "We're all here to do some gumshoeing and figure out where the Patternista took Old Missie."

Mathroom complied and opened up one of her figures to reveal a sketch of the record Orscheln had found. We heard a _click_ and the first part of Old Missie's coded message began to play. " _The pink one has four grass stains, and the white one has six cherry stains."_ Another _click_ and the message stopped.

"So that means we need four grass and six cherry," Ocelot said.

Another of Mathroom's figures spat out ten miniature figures, which opened up to reveal four grasses followed by six cherries. The recording began to play again. " _Please wash the stains three times..."_

Obfusco grinned. "Multiplication thrice rears its head to the full moon!"

At the questioning looks from the other eight agents, I stepped in to try and translate. "I think he means this is a pattern that repeats itself three times, so we'll have three groups of four grass and six cherry." Turning to Mathroom, I added, "Could we see what that looks like?"

Twenty more figures added themselves to the list, and the rest of the recording played. " _...but be especially careful with my white dress. Cherry stains can be permanent if they are not dealt with quickly."_

"So would that mean," little Oxley wondered, "that she's telling us just to pay attention to how many cherries there are and not the grass?"

I smiled. Oxley had only been on the squad for a month and was one of our youngest and most naive members, but even today he'd learned quickly. "I'd say that's a swell idea."

Puffing up his little chest with pride, Oxley eagerly called out, "Mathroom! Isolate the cherries, please!"

"Isolating." The figures with grass images disappeared, leaving behind only a row of cherries.

"So how many total times did we wash all six cherry stains?" I asked.

As Obed counted, Osage did a little mental math. "Six times three is the same as six groups of three, so that would make three, six, nine, twelve, fifteen, eighteen cherries," she said.

"...sixteen, seventeen, eighteen! Yup, she's right," Obed confirmed.

O'Sullivan had been silently but intently observing the math up until now. "I don't get it," he mused. "How is this whole shebang a clue to find her?"

"Yeah, it feels like we still don't know from nothing," Olmstead added, and there were murmurs from a few other agents in our small group, too.

I stared up at the eighteen cherries and sighed. "I'm balled up, too." I admitted. "Eighteen cherries...what's eighteen cherries…?"

Obfusco spoke up again. "Dear Old Missie is like a crow-winged dolphin serving tea in the cracks of a jigsaw puzzle. She is good at hide-and-seek, but also at taboo."

I glanced at Osage. "He means she's very clever and has tried her best to give us everything we need to find where she is," she translated.

"That's what I thought," I said with a proud nod. _I'm getting better at understanding his confusing speech._ "So where can we find eighteen che—"

 _Wait a second…_

 _Oh, that's it…_

Orscheln figured it out at the exact same time as me. "Hold it! Isn't there a Cherry Street downtown?"

"And how," I agreed excitedly. "Mathroom, bring up a picture of 18 Cherry Street!"

"Generating." Sure enough, as Mathroom brought up the image, we saw a small brick building with a sign out front that read _White Dress Hop, fine dining & dancing, 18 Cherry St._

"The White Dress Hop!" Oxley exclaimed. "Old Missie said the cherry stains were on her _white dress!_ "

Ocelot held out her hand for him to high five. "My little gigolo's right, she gave us a double hint! And if I recall, the Patternista almost said something else instead of warehouse."

"'Spe' is what I heard," Olmstead chimed in. "My security instincts are telling me she was about to say 'speakeasy'. And that White Dress Bar's got all the makings of a gin mill it—self..." She trailed off, realizing what she'd just said.

 _A gin mill?_

Everyone looked to me uncertainly. I pursed my lips. Of _course_ a villain would take any captured Odd Squad agent to a speakeasy. Even as members of a government organization, there were some places we kids just did not go, and speakeasies were on that list. But if that's where Old Missie was…

I clapped my hands together briskly, fighting the urge to reach for the jelly beans in my pocket. "Right, you heard Olmstead. We're all headed to the White Dress Hop next. Not so good that it's a speakeasy, but we can't do much about it anyhow. So, er..."

"So what should our plan be, Olesya?" Obfusco prompted simply, with a strange smile. Almost as if he knew something about me that I didn't. Curious...was it because I had somehow become the leader of this strange little group? Or was it something more…?

But I would have to wonder about that later. "Plan? Um..." I scrambled for an idea. "Well...first we should probably get a wiggle on back to HQ. Orscheln, I know the Lab isn't finished yet, but take Ocelot and Oxley and try to dig our best available gadgets out of storage. Only tell Dr. Ozzington what's going on if you absolutely have to. Olmstead and O'Sullivan, get the Security and Maintenance forces together and post guards at all of our known breaches, then set up a patrol with whoever's left. The last thing we need right now is another break-in. Obfusco, I'm leaving you and Osage behind to run Old Missie's office while the rest of us are gone. And remember, _no one tell anyone that Old Missie was kidnapped._ " Thankful that no one was arguing with me, I turned to Obed. "You and I are going to take a short trip to the Odd Bank. Hope we don't have to use it, but we may need some C-notes for bargaining voot. When everyone's done, we'll all regroup in the Tube Lobby."

"And then what?"

I winked at Oxley. "Let's just say we have to go see a man about a dog…"

* * *

" _Come to think of it..." Oprah muses, "...I do remember seeing Obfusco and Osage in the office one day."_

" _Wouldn't surprise me," Olesya agrees. "The two were a good duo as substitute directors. I learned later that if Osage hadn't been looking at retirement soon, she was almost promoted in my place. But then, so were you."_

" _Really? Oh...but I wasn't because of O'Donahue."_

" _Exactly. See, Ogden and I, we weren't bad partners, but we never really, er,_ meshed _well. Like you and O'Donahue did. Sure, the two of us were decent at solving cases together, but there was nothing special about our partnership. At least..." she falters. "At least,_ I _didn't think so. I dunno, I mean, he was never the same after I was promoted...hmm, I wonder..."_

 _Oprah cocks her head. "Um, bo—I mean, Olesya?"_

 _Olesya snapped back to reality. "Sorry. Anyhow, Old Missie also found it easier to split the two of us up after Ogden temporarily quit the squad."_

" _That's another thing I was meaning to ask you about," Oprah interrupted, curious. "I definitely remember Ogden staying on the squad for at least another ten years,_ _first as a partner for new agent_ _s, then in Events and Support. But here you said he quit. So what's up with that?"_

" _That, my dear Oprah," she answered mysteriously, "is what we will get to in a moment..."_

* * *

A tiny wooden panel slid open the moment I knocked on the door, and a pair of beady eyes peered through the opening. "Huhwhat? Who's there?"

I sighed in exasperation. Some people would never understand. "Down here!"

The eyes looked down—and widened. "Odd Squad! Um, uh, w-what a surprise, heh! W-what brings you here to our h-h-humble and c-completely legal establishment?"

Olmstead rolled her eyes. "Oh, tell it to Sweeney! We know you're running a juice joint back in this here alley, so be level with us—ow!" She glared at Obed, who'd stomped on her foot.

Sending him a mental thanks, I quickly cut in. "But don't worry! We're neither crashers giving you the buzz nor owls looking for whoopee. We're much too young, and raids are what the cops do, not us. No, we're only here investigating odd activity."

Beady Eyes looked skeptical, but at least he wasn't rushing off to sound the alarm about a police raid. "What sort of odd activity?"

Ocelot took this as her cue. "You see, good sir," she said sweetly, the calming twinkle back in her albino red eyes (seriously, how did she do that?), "we have reason to believe a very famous odd villain known as the Patternista may be lurking somewhere in your establishment." Brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear, Ocelot gave him her most affable smile. "Do you have any idea where her scatter might be?"

"I, uh..." Still a little doubtful, Beady Eyes sized up our group. He took in O'Sullivan's smart yellow overalls, Olmstead's imposing blue-buttoned navy pea jacket, Orscheln's slightly eccentric goggles and green waistcoat, and the rest of our innocent-looking sailor suits (another plus to the new uniforms we all took advantage of). Abruptly he slid the wooden panel shut, and the door opened. "Alright, come on in," the tall, thin and surprisingly young owner of the eyes said gruffly, jerking his head behind him. "There's a stairway in the back leading to an upstairs loft. You should find her up there."

"Thank you, sir!" I nodded to him as we all filed inside. "And don't worry, we're not going to report this to the mulligans." I winked. "After all, as far as we children know, these places don't exist."

A sort of understanding seemed to pass over his face, and he smiled. "Thank _you_ , Odd Squad. Swell to have you here."

We briskly walked through a short hallway into a classy brick-walled room that clearly looked every inch the cocktail bar, ignoring the curious and suspicious stares from the customers. "Official and _unrelated_ Odd Squad business," I muttered as we passed the bartender, and he visibly relaxed. Luckily no one stopped us, and we made it through the place without interruption. Once inside the door to the dim stairwell, we regrouped on the landing of the stairs and Oxley whispered, "What do we do now?"

I hid a wince at the way his voice still echoed. Surprise was still on our side, and I didn't want to lose that. "Wait here," I hissed back, and silently as I could I crept up the concrete stairs to the door at the top. A sign was posted on the front that read, "Patternista's Evil Lair - DO NOT DISTURB!"

 _Well, that was easy,_ I thought, a little confused. _Almost too easy…_ Nevertheless I poked my head over the railing and motioned for the other six agents to follow me.

"So do we sneak in or charge in?" O'Sullivan asked when they all joined me.

Personally I was in favor of sneaking in, but I decided to put it to a vote. "What do _you_ think?"

"Me? Well, golly," he smirked. "I think we should charge."

"O'Sullivan is right," Olmstead added. "The quicker we pinch her and save Old Missie, the better."

That made sense. As the other agents murmured their agreement, I motioned for Obed to brace himself against the side of the door while I grabbed the handle, prepared to push it open as fast as we could. "On the count of three. One...two...thr—"

Without warning, the door swung open.

Caught completely off guard, Obed stumbled back as I yelped and tumbled forward into the room.

"Welcome, Odd Squad. Your Miss Obedience and I have been expecting you."

Sprawled on the floor, dazed and bewildered, I only barely registered the sudden shouts of panic behind me. Whirling around, I looked up and watched in frozen horror as a hidden floor net swept my fellow agents up into a tangled bundle suspended from the ceiling.

Then a squeaky, cackling giggle pierced my daze. A sick feeling in my stomach, I turned back and craned my neck upward to find the signature mismatched patchwork dress, floppy hat, and striped cigar holder belonging to none other than the Patternista herself.

We had walked right into a trap.

 **A/N Okay, honestly, I'm finishing this story first out of spite because I was a little annoyed at how whiny some of you guys have gotten about me choosing "Ships Ahoy" over "Viva La Vida" to update, even though many of you had a point. But I also finally had an epiphany for how to end this, because back in the fall Shenokzo and I actually had no idea how this story was going to wrap itself up, and that's thankfully resolved now. So as soon as Chapter 5 for this is up, I'll get back to VLV, I _promise_.**

 **In the meantime, hope you all are considering or currently participating in the Contest! There have been no, I repeat _NO,_ entries  yet, which means everyone still has an equal shot at each part of the Contest. So please PM your entries to me as soon as possible, before the deadline on July 30! (P.S. that's my birthday, and it would make an awesome present if all readers participated ;) )**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Okay, so Chapter 5 was getting _ridiculously long_ while I was typing it up, so I decided to cut it off about halfway. Luckily, I'm almost done with what will now be Chapter 6 (the REAL final chapter, I promise), so that should be up within the next few days!**

Chapter 5

I scrambled to my feet. "Who—what—when—where—"

* * *

" _Why?_ " _Oprah demanded to know._

 _Olesya laughed. "I'm about to tell you!"_

* * *

"Did you honestly think that _I_ couldn't detect a pattern when I heard it?" the Patternista cackled. "You must think I'm _such_ a dumb Dora. And even without that, the white dress was a _dead_ giveaway." She turned to call over her shoulder, "Don't you think so, Miss Obedience?"

I gasped. Peering around the patterned patchwork skirts, I could see Old Missie in the far corner of the large, empty room, gagged and bound to a chair, her neat dress and copper hair in complete disarray. But even from this distance and behind her own shock and horror, I couldn't miss the defiance burning fiercely in her green eyes. Even underneath her usual demureness, Old Missie was a fighter, that was for sure.

Yet now, with six other agents captured behind me, the balance of the equation had changed.

 _Equation…_ Slowly, in the back of my mind, an idea began to materialize.

The Patternista had realized the same thing about the balance, of course. "Aww, it seems your little rescue party is in a bit of a jam. Seven agents rushing in to save one is a little different than one bean-picker left to save seven. Now, if only you'd just decided to meet my demands..." she smiled coldly back at Old Missie again, "...instead of going off the tracks, you might have had her returned by now. Instead… tsk tsk tsk, I'm afraid you've put yourselves behind the eight ball."

Inside the net, wedged next to Obed and under Oxley, Olmstead had had enough. "That's it!" she yelled. "I don't care what you say, but you won't be getting away with this! There are hundreds of Odd Squad agents in Toronto alone, and—"

"—and who's going to call for them, hmm?" the Patternista interrupted. "You, my dear bearcat? I don't think so. Your friends? Your boss? Piffle. This pathetic little ringleader right in front of me? Ha! She'll stay right where she is if she knows what's good for her. And anyhow, I don't see how you could drop a dime when there's no ameche anywhere nearby."

"Oh, oh! Dr. Ozzington invented a portable Telephoninator!" Orscheln blurted out.

I heard a couple gasps, and felt myself go cold as Orscheln realized what she'd just said and muttered a tiny "oopsies", but the Patternista only sneered. "Of course, you and your goofy little gillgadgets. Don't think I don't know what you on the bottom are trying to reach for," she called out, pointing at O'Sullivan, who immediately stopped struggling with his arm pinned behind his back. "You try to throw lead from any of those, I throw my _own_ lead at _her_." Pulling out a pistol, she reached an arm behind her without even turning it around and expertly aimed it at Old Missie, then immediately put it down. "So I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Whether that was her infamous Pattern Gat in her hand or she was actually wearing iron, I couldn't tell. But before I could figure out which, a sudden, unexpected movement near Old Missie caught my eye.

The room we were in had six windows, three on the left wall and three on the right. Each one had a dark curtain covering it to hide what was going on from prying eyes, but it was the curtain of the farthest right window next to Old Missie's chair that I saw move. Careful to look only out of the corner of my eye, I watched as someone stealthily crept through the window and into the room.

And that someone was the last person I would have expected.

Quickly I tried to push aside my disbelief and compose myself. Had I tipped my mitt? Did the Patternista notice anything? Pretending to be worried for my friends, I glanced back and saw that they, too, had noticed. Ocelot had somehow surreptitiously slipped a hand over Oxley's mouth, O'Sullivan and Orscheln were trying to look completely blank, and shock had dimmed the fiery anger in Obed's and Olmstead's eyes quite a bit.

Winking at the group, I turned back to face the Patternista, and it dawned on me that, miraculously, she seemed to have missed all our cues. "So," she said to me with a wicked grin. "What do I do with you? I can't very well send you back to Odd Squad and expect you to keep this all hush-hush for me. Maybe I could use you as my ransom messenger? No, that wouldn't do either...ah well, maybe I should just ensnare you with the rest—"

" _Or,_ " I cut her off suddenly, "I could challenge you to a duel."

The Patternista stopped, eyeing me curiously. "A duel?"

What on earth was I doing? I tried to steady my nerves. "Yes, a duel," I repeated, the idea from earlier taking shape in my mind. "A duel of the patterns. Here's the deal: you win, I get taken hostage with the rest of my friends. _I_ win, you have to surrender." Relieved, I saw that I had her full attention now. Just so long as she didn't turn around and see what was going on behind her, we held the ace.

"I see," the Patternista said slowly. Then a wicked grin spread across her sharp features. "Very well, I accept. If it's a duel of the patterns, I'll defeat you anyhow. Now how does this duel work?"

"Simple," I answered, effortlessly switching into case mode. "One of us gives the other a simple math problem where the answer is a number with a repeating pattern. The other has to figure out the answer and what the pattern is. For example, if I gave you ten divided by three?"

"That's three-point-three repeating," she answered immediately. "So I would say the pattern is simply all threes. Ha! That's duck soup."

 _Glad you think it's so easy,_ I thought. _You have no idea what I have in store for you._ "Swell," I said with an innocent smile. "Just remember, if you can't guess the pattern to the answer, or you can't think of an unused math problem with such a number as the answer, you lose. Now, since you say it's duck soup, I'll let you go first."

"Very well. Eight divided by nine."

I almost laughed. She'd picked a pattern similar to my example, and I didn't even need to stop and think. "All eights, repeating. Five divided by eleven?" I went on in the same breath, mentally crossing it off my list.

"Four five, four five, repeating. Two divided by thirteen?"

 _Rhatz!_ That would have been my next one. If the clever trap she'd set wasn't enough, this definitely proved the Patternista wasn't stupid. I had to pause for a moment while I tried to remember the rule for the order of numbers when dividing by thirteen, but without too much trouble I got it. "One five three eight four six, and then it repeats." In return for stealing my idea with the thirteen, I tried something new. "One million, six hundred sixty-eight thousand, three hundred thirty-five times sixty."

Her eyebrows shot up in astonishment, but I gave her time to do the mental math. Eventually she grinned, and I knew she'd gotten it. "All that work to get one-zero-zero, repeating two more times. Looks like I'll have to raise the stakes, too. Try one hundred eighty-four million, five hundred eighteen thousand, four hundred fifty divided by nine."

I thought I heard Ocelot gasp behind me. Later, when everyone asked how I knew all that math, all I could say was, "She tightened the screws on me, so I tightened the smarts on her." But somehow I came up with: "Two-zero-five-zero, repeating once more."

The minutes ticked by as on and on the competition went. We changed it up so many times, I lost count. Just when I'd think the Patternista had given me a problem I couldn't solve, the answer would come to me. And just when I'd think I'd stumped her on a problem, she'd give me that infuriatingly patronizing smile and answer with the right pattern. I could feel the tension in the air, sense the anxiety of my friends above and behind me, and see the determination in my boss's eyes. But on and on it went, and not once did she think to turn around and check on Old Missie.

We were both tiring out, I could tell. But she didn't know the trick I still had hidden up my sleeve. And, after what seemed like an eternity, I finally got the chance to use it...

"Fifty divided by seven."

"Seven-one-four-two-eight-five, repeat forever. Eighty-seven times two hundred fifty-nine times thirty-nine."

"Eight-seven, repeats twice more. Binary of three thousand three."

"One-zero-one-one, repeats three more times. One divided by eighty-one."

"Zero-one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-ei—er, nine, repeat forever. Square root of four hundred forty-four billion, four hundred forty-three million, five hundred fifty-five thousand, five hundred fifty-six."

 _Oh, she's playing dirty,_ I thought as I did a quick guess-and-check and realized what the answer was. But I had heard her slip. The Patternista was losing her focus. And now that she'd introduced square roots, it was time to make my move. "Six hundred sixty-six thousand, six hundred sixty-six," I returned coolly. "Square root of one hundred twenty-three million, four hundred fifty-six thousand, seven hundred eighty-nine."

The Patternista squinted at me for a moment, then broke into her cackling giggle. "I should've known you'd try 123456789. Well, simple, it's eleven thousand, one hundred eleven-point-one, and the one repeats."

I pursed my lips. "Hmm...hate to send the telegram, but...I'm afraid that's incorrect."

She faltered. "Wh-what?"

"Eggs in the coffee, really. See, it goes point-one-one-one for a bit, but then it switches to a different pattern—zero-six-zero-five, and it's the _five_ that repeats." And before she could react or claim that I'd chiseled her, I leaned to my right to peer around her skirts once again and called, "Wouldn't you agree, partner?"

"You can bet your kale on it!"

Her mouth fell open. Too late, she finally turned around.

What came next happened so fast, I almost couldn't remember it all afterward. A white-hot beam shot over my head and disintegrated the net, dropping Obed, Ocelot, Oxley, Orscheln, O'Sullivan, and Olmstead to the floor with several thumps. At the same time Old Missie leapt to her feet, her untied bonds falling to the floor, picked up the chair she'd been strapped to and with an ear-piercing "HAI-YAH! ! !" hurled it at the Patternista, who only barely managed to duck out of the way. But as she did so, there was a blast from behind me, and the Patternista suddenly stumbled and crashed to the floor, hitting her head hard. A closer look revealed her wrists and ankles were handcuffed.

I turned around just in time to catch O'Sullivan slipping the brand new Handcuffinator gadget behind his back as he pulled himself up to his feet. "Finally got to use it!" he remarked, and I had to chuckle.

Olmstead stood up, wincing a little as she clutched her hip, and motioned to the group. "C'mon, fellas. Let's get her to the tube entrance outside, then down to the clubhouse and into the caboose." With that she and the other five agents surrounded and hoisted up the unconscious—and _heavy_ —Patternista, beginning the agonizing process of carrying her down the stairs. As she passed by me, Olmstead winked and reached out with her free hand to clap me on the back. "You done good, Olesya. You done good. Thanks to you, she won't be making any clean sneaks today."

The moment they were all out of sight, I collapsed against the back wall. I was so tired after all that math, I could barely think straight.

But there were still two people in the room I needed to address...


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Hokay, so as we FINALLY come to the end of this story, I'd like to give a few shoutouts. Thanks to Ambidextrous Drummer, Perilheart, Anakina Skykiller, Flying Saucers, Delta1327, Everlynn Flame, and Ravenpuff for reviewing this little fanfic. (Oh, and Ravenpuff, to answer your question, half of it was random messing around on the calculator for a couple hours, but I also googled repeating numbers and such - it was a math overload, trust me!) Additional thanks to Ambidextrous Drummer, Cypress Oury, Delta1327, and Perilheart for favoriting this story, and to Ambidextrous Drummer, Delta1327, Everlynn Flame, and Perilheart for following this story. Also thanks to Flying Saucers for proofreading one of the chapters I wasn't confident about, it helped a ton!**

 **And finally, a huge special thank-you to Shenokzo, for being the mastermind behind this entire story and making it all possible. You rock!**

Chapter 6

" _So, after all that, your partner changed his mind and came back?"_

" _Well...not exactly..."_

* * *

"Ogden," I said, a confused smile on my face as he and Old Missie made their way over to me. "Nertz. Thought you said you wanted to quit before things turned into a _real_ sockdollager."

My partner, still in his uniform, his badge back in its rightful place, shyly looked down at the Un-Netinator in his hands. "I had to get out of there, Olesya. It was the only thing I could think of. I didn't know the Patternista already knew we'd be coming. I just didn't want her to get suspicious."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Allow me to explain," Old Missie smoothly cut in. "You see, after the Patternista finally captured and tied me up, she planted _these_ little things all around my office and in the phonograph room, one of which Ogden was kind enough to bring."

She held up a tiny metal device that I instantly recognized. Not so long ago, Dr. Ozzington had invented something he called a Listeninator. I wasn't exactly sure how it worked, but the device could be put in one room and someone who was far away could hear everything being said in that room. Somehow, the Patternista must have gotten ahold of all the ones he'd invented. (We'd thought she was the only one, but twenty years later some Soviet professor also managed to get his hands on the design and used it to invent the Great Seal Bug—he claimed to be the first person to invent a listening device, but Odd Squad agents know the truth.) "So she was _spying_ on us the whole time?" I gasped in disbelief.

"No, she wasn't," Ogden said. "I made sure of that. See, I spotted the Listeninators the moment we sat down for our emergency meeting, but I couldn't think of a way to pop 'em all without telling you guys and giving away the goods to the Patternista. So after I pretended to quit and you went and cast a kittten—" I bit my lip at that "—I checked out the phonograph room on a hunch and found a Listeninator there, too. So I zotzed it, skedaddled to the Tube Lobby, and told Big Red to send me through Old Missie's private tube entrance. I came in just as you guys left and zotzed all the rest, too. Then I secretly followed you guys to the blind pig here—secretly, because I knew you were still sore about me leaving and didn't want to risk anything—and the moment I saw the others get trapped, I ran back out and climbed up the drainpipe to the window to rank on what was going on. Somehow I found Old Missie's window, and...you know the rest."

I have to admit, I was floored. Even after knowing and working alongside him for over fifty years, I didn't have Ogden figured out at all. The boy still had hidden depths that I knew nothing about.

Old Missie beamed at him. "Yes, and I plan to award you the Director's Medal of Honor for your courage and cleverness in rescuing me, along with everyone else in your group."

 _The Director's Medal of Honor?_ I thought. _Us?_

Ogden blushed. No, really, he actually blushed. "Thank you, ma'am," he said gruffly. I thought it was the first time I hadn't ever seen any trace of arrogance or over-the-top maturity on him.

Then she turned to me. There was no mistaking the admiration shining in her eyes. "Agent Olesya...that was, to say the least... _incredible._ Never in all my years have I seen any agent tap into the Mathness without losing all control. Yet that is exactly what you did."

I stared at her, confused. "The...Mathness?"

"That's how you were able to win the number pattern duel," she said, spreading her hands and smiling. "Even the world's smartest mathematician couldn't solve the problems you did without tapping into the hidden world of math through your own brain, rather than through the Mathroom."

Mentally I rewound through the whole ordeal, recalling the strange feeling I'd felt and dismissed as "somehow coming up with the answer". Old Missie was right.

"But for most agents," she continued, "even the tiniest encounter causes total descent into Mathness. It's happened to some of my agents before, and it can take our doctors forever to pull them back out. But you didn't do that." Her explanation finished, Old Missie was now looking at me strangely. Almost in awe. As if she suddenly understood something about me that she hadn't known before. The same way Obfusco had regarded me earlier…

To be on the up and up, although it frustrated me that everyone was doing this and no one would tell me what was wrong with me, I felt kind of jiggle-brained by it. So I clapped my hands together and immediately changed the subject. "Well, I think I've had an earful of math for today. Whaddya say we get back to HQ?" I nodded at Old Missie. "You look like a rag-a-muffin who's been on quite a toot."

And just like that, the stern old boss we all knew and loved was back. "How _dare_ you suggest I was ossified!" she retorted indignantly, but her eyes were twinkling. "I suppose I'll have to clean up and put myself together before the _rest_ of the squad starts believing such nonsense!" With that, she flounced out, still managing to look dignified in her torn skirts and tousled hair.

Ogden and I looked at each other and grinned. "I mean," I pointed out, "if she doesn't clean herself up soon, we'll have to tell the rest of squad _something._ "

"Oh, I bet you'll think of a good line to string for them all," Ogden assured me.

"Ha ha. Says the daisy fella who's better with excuses!" I shot back, but we were both still grinning. It sure was swell to have my partner again.

* * *

 _Oprah sets down her juice box and sits back in the couch. "And the rest is history."_

" _You got that right," Olesya says with a grin. "Over the next month, Old Missie called in everyone who'd been part of the rescue party to hear their side of the story. Evidently she noticed a theme." She chuckles and reaches for more jelly beans. "I hadn't realized everyone believed it to be_ my _leadership that got Old Missie back. Neither did I realize she'd been wanting to retire and had been about to start looking for a replacement before she was kidnapped. And I_ definitely _never thought I was going to be the next Ms. O."_

" _Yet here we are," Oprah tells her. "Old Missie and your rescue group must've known what they were doing, 'cuz you made a terrific boss."_

" _Oh, if you say so." Olesya attempts a mock humble air that has the two girls giggling within seconds._

" _But really, learning all about this is so cool," Oprah later remarks. "I'm so glad you were able to come hang out today, otherwise I wouldn't've known all this!"_

" _No, trust me, I'm glad I could finally come back, too!"_

" _Well yeah, like how brilliant it was when you designed that test for me in '83 based on your own experience in '25. You sure had me fooled at the time. Although, at the time I did think it was kinda strange that the Patternista had come back after nearly sixty years."_

 _Olesya shrugs at that. "I would say thanks, but actually, the idea was Ogden's."_

 _Oprah raises her eyebrows. "No kidding! Like, before he left the squad, he told you that you should do that?"_

" _Mm-hmm. It was the first and probably the only such piece of advice Ogden gave me as Ms. O, before I made him a training partner." She chuckles. "Oh, I remember the day..."_

* * *

"Y'know something? The Patternista Caper would make a downright swanky test for when you feel like hiring the next Ms. O."

"Excuse me?" I paused my work in arranging all my stuff on the new Management desk to stare at Ogden, who was dusting the doorframe for what must've been the ninth time. "You mean I should hire a villain to snatch me and hope some wise head agent comes to the rescue?"

"Um, no," he said, giving me the _oh-my-odd-you-can-be-a-bunny-sometimes_ look he loved a little too much. "But you could pretend to. Send the agent you think is the best on a make-believe case, then pretend a villain's pinched you while they're out and see if they can follow your clues to rescue you. Savvy?"

I considered the thought. It definitely took a lot of smarts and guts to get Old Missie back, and whoever my successor would be was sure going to need to have those. "Yeah, savvy. That's idea is actually the bee's knees. I wouldn't have thought of that." I threw him a wink. "Maybe my new talents are rubbing off on you."

At that Ogden immediately chucked the feather duster at me, and I had to duck. "Aw, close your head," he griped. "I've told you hundreds of times, I can't concentrate on my work with all the construction going on! So don't you go thinking you got the bulge on me just because you're the new Ms. O—"

 _Whumph!_

A well-aimed throw sent the feather duster right back on his mouth, shutting him up. "Hey!" he spluttered, frantically pawing feathers out of his mouth. "Watch it, that thing's covered in dust! I just washed my face this morning!"

That really made me laugh. "C'mon, partner, this is Odd Squad. Live a little. Chuck it back!"

Ogden looked at me, then at the feather duster in his hands, then back at me. A wicked grin spread slowly across his face. "You're on."


End file.
